Now You Understand
by Iamokota
Summary: GSR. What if Sara had died in Dead Doll, despite Grissoms best efforts to save her? What would Grissom do without the woman he loved? Explores an alternate ending to Dead Doll.


Grissom swallowed hard and blinked as he fought the tears that were threatening to engulf him. He was not given to such a blatant, outright display of emotion, especially not in such a public place as the middle of the morgue. The entire team was there: Warrick, Catherine, Nick, Greg…everyon. Brass and Sofia were standing just outside the door, looking through the small circular window at the group gathered around the autopsy table. Doc Robbins was poised over the table, preparing to do a preliminary search of the body laid out there, but he was taking his time about uncovering the victim's face. It was like the elephant in the room. Everyone present knew that it must be done, but nobody wanted to say anything and hurry the process along. They were all dreading the sight that would meet their eyes when the body was revealed. Doc Robbins, who didn't seem able to bear it anymore, sighed heavily and reached his gloved hand toward the top of the sheet covering the victim's face. He was just about to pull the sheet down when Grissom's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed the doctor by the wrist. Doc Robbins looked up into Grissom's anguished face. 

"Let me," Grissom said in a choked voice. Doc Robbins let go of the sheet and nodded. He understood how important it was to Gil. Behind them, someone stifled a sob.

Grissom took a deep breath and slowly slid the sheet down. Now no one was bothering to conceal their emotions as Grissom revealed the badly bruised and bloody face of Sara Sidle. Though they had all seen her face already, the harsh lights of the autopsy table threw Sara's injuries into sharp relief. The shock, grief, and anger in the room was palpable. Catherine began to sob, unable to hold back any longer. A cloud of despair settled over the group of CSI's as Doc Robbins began his preliminary search of Sara's body. Several tense minutes passed while the group cried and watched Doc Robbins document each injury on Sara's body. He was gentle with her, only touching when absolutely necessary and often having to wipe a tear from his eye as he worked. Grissom felt a rush of gratitude toward the coroner, his longtime friend. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Doc Robbins straightened up, wiped his eyes again, and turned to face the grieving CSI's.

"I've never seen anything like this," he said in a constricted voice, a few more tears trickling down his face. He didn't bother to wipe them away. "She was put through absolute hell before she died. She has a concussion, her left arm is broken in two places, she has a sizable gash in her forehead, not to mention several smaller cuts on her face, neck, and torso, and there are hardly any places where her body isn't bruised."

"Cause of death?" asked Catherine, past her sobs.

"Well…I won't know for sure until…until I get inside, but, off the record, I'd say dehydration, combined with the extent of her injuries. She was out in the desert for a long time without water and without medical attention. I'd say that she just eventually passed out and never woke up. A gruesome death."

The team stood in silence, each wanting to turn their face away from their mangled friend and colleague, but each being unable to do so. Grissom did not feel the need to turn away, but kept his eyes on her face, memorizing every detail of her torture. He never wanted to forget Sara as she was before the miniature killer mangled her beautiful face, but he also never wanted to forget what that psychotic bitch did to the love of his life either.

No one knew how long they had been standing there, but one by one the CSI's tore their gaze away from Sara and slipped out the door and went back to the lab. Finally, it was just Grissom, alone with her body. He stared at her face for a few more seconds, trying to hold back the sob that was building in his throat. He managed, but only just.

"I'm sorry, Sara," he choked out. "I'm sorry I didn't get there in time to save you. I tried my hardest, you know I did, but everything I did…it wasn't enough. We tracked the car down and followed the trail into the desert. We even found the place where Natalie dumped you on the ground and tortured you. I knew it was your blood even before we found the car just 20 yards away, half buried in a mountain of dirt."

Grissom swallowed hard and blinked back more tears. "My heart stopped when I saw that car. Nick and I…we dug the car out as fast as we could. Nick found your vest while he was digging. I couldn't breathe, Sara. I feared the worst.

Grissom paused as he remembered the terror he had felt when they found Sara's vest. He choked back a sob and continued. "But you weren't there. You had managed to free yourself from under that car. I felt a surge of relief, but it quickly turned to horror. If you weren't there, then where were you? Fearing the worst again, I turned around and studied the ground around the car. I felt hope flood back into me when I saw your shoeprints heading away from the car and into the desert, but it was short lived hope. Alone in the desert in the heat of the day, was almost as bad as trapped under a car. Catherine and I followed your footprints, but the trail suddenly ran out. The wind had blown your footprints away. Terror seized me again. But you were smart, even when you were in danger. You piled rocks up so we could follow you. At one point, we found a body in the dirt near one of your rock piles. I nearly fainted from fear…but it wasn't you. Catherine and I continued to follow your trail, but it seemed like an endless chase that would never lead me to you."

Grissom turned away from Sara's body, barely able to look at her anymore. He fought against the grief and tears threatening to engulf him, his voice barely loud enough to hear. "Then, everything changed. Nick called on his radio that he and Sofia had found you. He didn't talk about your condition though. He just told everyone to get there as fast as possible. Catherine and I rushed to our car and raced to where you were. The minute we arrived and the second I saw you, I knew. You were lying there on the ground, broken and beaten and I just knew that you were gone. I threw Nick out of the way and felt your neck with my fingers, trying to find your pulse, hoping, against all other hopes, that I would find a beat there, that the heart that loved me and changed me and gave a reason to live would still be pumping. But I didn't it find a pulse. And even though I knew you were gone, the victim of a murder, and even though years of experience had taught me to never mess with a crime scene, I picked up your body and cradled you in my arms. I just sat there rocking you like a child, until the paramedics arrived and Catherine pried me away."

Grissom turned back to the autopsy table and placed a gloved hand on Sara's cold forehead. "I'm sorry, Sara," he said brokenly. "I'm so sorry…but I promise you, I will give you justice. I swear it to you."

And with one last heartbreaking look at the woman he loved, Gil Grissom walked out the door of the morgue.

* * *

_"Have you ever been to a place like this before?"_

_"I worked a murder-suicide at the Naughty Kitty once."_

_"No, no, come on. You know what I mean."_

_"As a customer?__ No."_

_""So you've never paid for sex?" _

_"I have not. I find the whole idea very bleak."_

_"Really?__How Come?"_

_"Sex should provide the opportunity for human connection. Paid sex does the opposite of that. To me, sex without love is pointless. It makes you sad."_

_"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't make you sad."_

_"No, you make me happy."_

And you always have, Sara, dear. You always have…

* * *

_"Since when are you interested in beauty?"_

_"Since I met you."_

How wish I had acted on my feelings then. I meant that Sara, whether you knew it or not.

* * *

_"You trust me?"_

_"Intimately."_

I always did, love. Even before…

* * *

_"You want to sleep with me?"_

_"Did you just say what I think you said?"_

_"That way when I wake up in a cold sweat under the blanket, hearing Kay's screams, you can tell me it's nothing. It's just empathy."_

How I wish I hadn't been so blind back then. How I wish I could go back and stay with you and comfort you when you were in distress. I would give anything to go back to that moment and give you the comfort, love, and compassion you deserve.

* * *

_"I don't know. Most people want to die in their sleep, I suppose. Never know that it's happening. Like a crime scene. __Surprise.__ You're dead. I'd prefer to know in advance that I was __gonna__ die. I'd like to be diagnosed with cancer, actually. Have some time to prepare, go back to the rainforest one more time, reread 'Moby Dick', possibly enter an international chess tournament, at least have enough time to say goodbye to the people I love."_

_"I'm not ready to say goodbye."_

And I'm not either, my love. I never will be…

* * *

_"__Sara,_

_Our parting was awkward. I don't know why I find it so difficult to express my feelings for you…even though we're far apart, I can see you as vividly as if you were here with me…I said I'll miss you, and I do._

_Sonnet #47_

_Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,_

_And each doth good turns now unto the other:_

_When that mine eye is famished for a look,_

_Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,_

_With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,_

_And to the painted banquet bids my heart;_

_Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,_

_And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:_

_So, either by thy picture or my love,_

_Thy self away, art present still with me;_

_For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,_

_And I am still with them, and they with thee;_

_Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight_

_Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight__"_

I never sent you that letter, Sara. I wonder if you ever found it. I hope you did. I never wrote a truer letter in my life…

* * *

_"Hey."_

_"My cab's here."_

_"So, you're going."_

_"Yeah."_

_"I'll see you when you get back."_

_"I'll miss you."_

And I did. And I do.

* * *

_"This girl holds me responsible for the death of Ernie Dell. I took away the only person she ever loved…__so__ she's __gonna__ do the same__ thing__ to me."__

* * *

_

Grissom sat in his office, alone, with the lights off. He was seated at his desk, his palms flat against it, staring straight ahead towards the door. His mind was racing. It was like a picture show in his head, running a thousand miles a minute…thoughts about Natalie, thoughts about the case, thoughts of Sara…

Grief washed over Grissom as he thought of Sara. He remembered one of the first seminars he taught that she had attended. She was always so bright, so inquisitive, never satisfied with the enigmatic answers that were his trademark. It was this curiosity and this intensity that had attracted him to her. He fought back tears as he recalled the first seminar she attended.

_They always used to ask him if he could empathize with the people his investigations put behind bars. The students at the Forensics Academy, eager, yet clueless, were the most notorious for asking these questions and one of them, without fail, would always try to trip him up. _

_"Dr. Grissom, do you believe that murder is ever justified?"_

_He pursed his lips and looked at the vibrant, eager, young woman sitting before him in the lecture hall. "An excellent question Miss…"_

_"Sidle," she said with an innocent grin. "Sara Sidle."_

_Grissom studied her for a moment whi__le he considered his answer. Sara Sidle__ was tall and thin with dark hair and beautiful dark brown eyes__. She was beautiful, but he could tell she was also tough and smart. _Not someone I want to get into an argument with_, he thought absently__As he looked at her, h__e felt a jolt in his stomach that didn't quite jive with what was going on around him, but he pushed it aside__ and focused on answering Sara's question_

_"Well, Miss Sara __Sidle, that__ i__s a question that relies heavily on opinion. I don't deal with opinions and assumptions. I deal with evidence and facts. A murder justified or not, still results in the loss of human life. I study the loss of that life and figure out how it happened. I leave the__why__ to the detectives. When a forensic scientist__ start__s getting into the why, he or she__ cross__es__ the line of subjectivity and objectivity. There isn't any room for the subjective in__ forensics, Miss Sara Sidle. Forensic scientists__ would do well to remember that."_

_Grissom held her gaze for a moment after he finished speaking and felt the odd jolt in his stomach again. Sara's expression was unreadable, but he thought that he may have gone too far with his answer. Her body posture spoke volumes to him. She broke the eye contact to stare down at her book defiantly and Grissom continued with his lecture, though his mind was a million miles away. When he was finished, he hurried away and caught Sara just as she was going out the door. He asked her if he could speak with her in private. She sighed, folder her arms, and looked up at him with irritation in her eyes, but nodded and followed him to a more private spot a few feet down the hallway._

_"I'm sorry if I offended you, Miss Sidle."_

_Sar__a raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "You didn't offend me, D__r. Grissom, but I would suggest that, in the future, you might want to consider being a bit less…abrasive when someone asks you a question."_

_And with that, Sara Sidle turned and walked down the hall and out the door…and all Gil Grissom could do was stare at the__ spot where she had disappeared and wonder who he had just let walk out of his life._

Grissom had a gun, but he never carried it with him. He didn't like the weight of it against his hip because it made him feel unbalanced. And he felt so fake when he carried it, like he was a little boy playing cops and robbers. In real life, he knew it wasn't _bang! __bang_ and all your problems are solved. In real life, things were much more complicated.

But he suddenly found that he didn't much care and he also found that he had a very different answer to the very first question Sara ever asked him. Grief and rage welled up within him and with Sara's mangled face floating in his vision, Grissom reached down into his bottom drawer and removed his police issue gun. He strapped it to his hip, grabbed his I.D. badge, and headed towards the jail. It took him five minutes to walk there, flash his I.D. badge, explain what he wanted, and get a private interrogation room. He kneaded his forehead with his knuckles and tried to look composed. In another five minutes, the door opened and a police officer led her in, Natalie Davis, Sara's murderer. Grissom stared down at the table until the officer had seated Natalie in the chair opposite him and then retreated to the back of the room. Grissom looked up and found Natalie's unsettling eyes on him. Revulsion and hate welled up within him and he had to fight very hard against the urge to whip his gun out and kill her right then and there. Instead, he settled for folding his hands together and surveying her over top of them, but he was still acutely aware of the gun hanging at his side.

"Hello, Natalie."

She didn't say anything, but merely continued to stare at him.

"I wanted to ask you a question, Natalie. Do you understand?"

Still, she did not visibly acknowledge that he had spoken, or that he was even there, but he thought he saw some flash of recognition in her eyes. He shifted in his chair, feeling the gun move with him, and leaned forward so he could see her eyes more clearly.

"I just have one question for you, Natalie. Why? Why did you take Sara? Why of all the people in the wide world did you have take Sara? Why not Catherine or Sophia or Nick or Greg or Warrick or Brass or even Doc Robbins? Why Sara Sidle? Why?"

When he finished, Grissom realized he had been shouting and he also realized that his right hand was dangerously close to the gun. He pulled his hand back and tried to relax, but a fresh wave of grief rolled over him and, hard as he tried to fight it, a single tear escaped and fell slowly down his cheek. Grissom didn't bother to brush it away, though, because it seemed to have been the one thing that finally got through to Natalie. She lifted her head and watched the tear roll down his cheek. A small smile played across her lips.

"Now you understand," she said in her airy voice.

It was more than Grissom could bear. A second tear followed the first, and then a third and a fourth. As he sat there, inches away from his gun and inches away from Sara's killer, Gil Grissom broke down and cried. Natalie watched with fascination as Grissom's tears splashed down his face and onto the table. She reached out and touched one of them, feeling the wetness on her fingers. She smiled again. Grissom looked up at her, barely able to see.

"I…I loved her…" he whispered. "More than anything…and you…you took her away from me. You killed Sara…"

Natalie looked up at him, still smiling, and nodded. "Now you understand."

Grissom 's hand shook as he reached for the gun.

"Now you understand, Grissom…"

_She killed Sa__ra…_

He pulled the gun out of its holster….

_…now you understand…_

_She killed Sara…_

He raised the gun... Distantly he heard someone shout… Natalie's smiling face swam before him…

_…now you understand…_

_She killed Sara…_

_…now you understand…_

_…now you…._

"Understand. Bang, bang, Natalie. You're dead."


End file.
